


Burial

by Maybethings



Series: May Be Promptin' [110]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Prompt Fic, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-09
Updated: 2012-04-09
Packaged: 2017-11-04 01:09:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/387989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maybethings/pseuds/Maybethings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Promptfic. Karl, Merrill, Sten, “But it is so sad…”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burial

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Combination_NC](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Combination_NC/gifts).



The dead bird lay on the rocks, wings splayed and feet twisted. Its song did not carry on the wind--but the sound of quiet sobbing did.

"Your crying will not bring the bird back, elf."

"But it—it's so sad!" the elf wailed to the stoic, armoured Qunari beside her. "The poor thing must have had a nest to go back to, friends, family..." She scrubbed at her eyes vigorously with the heel of her hand. "Oh, Dread Wolf take these tears, I shouldn't be crying so hard."

"Perhaps you could bury it," someone said behind them both. The Qunari turned and drew his sword, pointing it at a grey-haired man in robes.  _Bas saarebas_ , unchained and out of control. Merrill, too, got to her feet, cupping the tiny splash of colourful feathers in both hands. "Perhaps you could bury it," he repeated, backing away just a step from the weapon pointed at its throat.

"That's not a bad idea," she replied.

They folded the stiffening wings to its sides, covering it with a mound of earth. There was no oak staff or cedar branch, so the woman laid a twig and a dry leaf with it in the grave. The Qunari stood back and watched as the man said a little prayer out of the  _bas_  Chant, then walked silently forward and recited something of his own. The words were of his language, and he ended with  _Anaan esaam Qun_.

And then they left, each not knowing the others' names, but still feeling comforted.

The bird would never fly again, or be free, or sing, and perhaps deep down all three—elf, human and kossith—knew that they would soon join it.


End file.
